It began in 1000 AD with the reading stone, a stone with a magnifying glass. But it was not until 1284 in Italy, that glasses were made to be worn. With time, these glasses  became more popular, modern, thinner, lighter, and ready to wear on a regular basis with a plethora of frames. Thanks to physics in the 17th century, concave and convex lenses were utilized to make the right glasses. Nowadays it is these glasses that play an integral part of my life.

The invention of glasses first became important to me in 8th grade. It was a long day and I was sitting in my last class, physical science. The teacher wrote the equation of kinetic energy on the white board. I knew the formula because I read about it, but why were the numbers so fuzzy? The numbers haunted me, they hid their identity because the numbers were wearing a fur coat. I could not decipher a 4 from an 8, or a 5 from a 9. Panic hit me. I hoped this was just the outcome of an exhausting day. I asked my friend to read to me what my teacher wrote, upset that the numbers were playing a game with me. I walked home, hoping that this was just a one time deal. Unfortunately, the next day I had a similar experience. I knew it was time to talk to my parents, it was time to face the fact that there is a change in my sight. I must take charge of the whiteboard and tame the numbers. I want to see clearly. 

After my classroom experience, it was time to find the right lens. I sat in the ophthalmology chair at Hinsdale, in the Wheaton Eye Clinic. My mother and brother were in the room with me when the ophthalmologist showed up. Sitting in the test chair, the lights were dim, and he (ophthalmologist) made me read the screen. I painfully squinted both my eyes to no avail, I could not clearly distinguish so many letters. After reading the letters, most likely wrong, my mother whispered into my ears “It’s time for glasses, don’t worry”. After receiving the script from the doctor, my mom took me to the frame section, in the front lobby, where I picked out 2 frames. My mom explained to me that I have her genes, and that glasses are inevitable. She admitted that some people even wear them as a fashion statement. I felt in control. I felt elated. I was determined not to let my change in sight stop me. I knew I would use my glasses when I needed them. I got into the habit of using the glasses in the classroom, even when I was close to the board. I practiced placing them back carefully into their hard case. I could not imagine how tough it must have been in the past for kids who struggled without having glasses. I wondered how their education might have been cut short. 

Now how do glasses work though? In order for glasses to function, light hits the lens and the type of lens will determine how the light will bounce off the object. In my condition, I am nearsighted because I can see near; but, I can not see far as well. This condition, known as myopia, requires lenses that are curved inwards. This concave lens allows light to diverge so that I can see better at a distance. On the other hand,in farsightedness, known as hyperopia, the lenses must be convex or flare out in the middle. This allows for light to hit the lenses and converge onto a nearby object, so that vision is better closer. Glasses act like an extra lens in addition to the lens of our eyes. When light pierces the lens, it hits the back of the eye, the retina, stimulating the rods(black and white) and cones(color) to create the images in the brain. Later in life, the lens of the eyes become harder. This lack of flexibility forces people to wear reading glasses to bend light for the eyes. 

The development of glasses evolves and continues to preserve vision. My nearsightedness is corrected with my glasses. It is this correction in vision that opens up the world, opens up opportunities, opens up the doors to sight. My eyes change and now I use my glasses to accommodate these changes-they are my new appendages. Thus,  the invention of glasses have removed restrictions to my sight, broadened the horizon, and have given me a newfound sight-the renewal of sharp vision. Sight is priceless.

Before I read my first book in preschool, before I  knew how to pronounce words, before I was given a prize for reading, I had to travel back down memory lane. I have to go back to my grandmother’s lap, my immigrant grandmother, whose native tongue is Gujarati.I vividly remember sitting in my grandmother’s lap at the ripe age of 2, on the soft, yellow carpet, on the floor with her legs folded. She would read to me the same book she read to my mom “Are you my Mother?”. I recall the hard-covered book with crinkled, yellowish pages, with marks of random lines on the periphery of the pages. My initial thoughts were “what a dirty book!”, but when my grandmother started reading the book, this no longer mattered-the miracle of words is what mattered. I remember her gently lifting each page, the drama, the intense emotions stirred in her voice as she read the book. This book became the routine where I first learned my basic reading skills, the skills that would have to mature and flourish to a lifelong commitment. It was not until a year later that I had the pride to read on my own, to pronounce on my own tongue the words of the written language. 

A year later, in preschool at Kinder-care, I sat in the corner after lunch, ready to finally claim my own power- the power to read. I picked the large colorful, hard-covered book in the classroom- the book that my teacher Ms. Ester read to our class numerous times, “Green Eggs and Ham”. I remember sitting on the colorful mat on the floor with my friends as Ms. Ester read this book, showing us the pictures as she turned each page. It was after 6 months of repetition that I finally wanted to prove to myself that I was ready, ready to read on my own. 

 

There I was, after lunch of chicken nuggets, ready to pick up the book myself. As my sweaty hands reached for this big book, I picked a small wooden chair in the corner of the room. I did not have the initial pleasure that I thought I would feel. Instead I had a tummy ache- maybe lunch, maybe my nerves. I remember that it was the feeling of fear, not joy, that I experienced. I carefully opened the book, trying not to miss a page. Then I turned to the story, the beginning, taking big breaths. The first page of the story was painful- I was forced to read slowly, I did not want to make any mistakes. But after I knew that I read mostly correctly, remembering my teacher reading it, I moved on to the next page-the next challenge. My anxiety lessened , my reading gained momentum. Reading the next page was easier, less stressful. Into the third page, I finally did it-I was in the book, the story, the place that I was when my teacher had read the same book, I was with the Cat in the Hat. Not only was I reading, I was for the first time in my life both a reader and a listener. I skipped some words where I was not sure of the correct pronunciation, but most of the words I was able to read and understand. When I gained that momentum, my surroundings no longer mattered. I do not remember what my friends were doing at this time, I do not remember what the teacher was doing, I was in my own zone-my reading zone. Reading out loud the pages with pride, I read as much as I could until the end. When I closed the book, reaching its last page, I proudly placed the book where I found it, in the bookshelf. My teacher walked me to the prize container and told me to pick out whatever I wanted. I picked a rainbow pen, the pen had 4 colors-blue, black, red and green. I knew that I skipped some words, but it did not matter to me because I knew that this was the beginning, the beginning of a journey that would set my destiny to be a reader for life. Just as my grandma enlightened me to love books, I grabbed that guiding light for the first time as a preschooler and paved the way for a lifetime of reading. 

Welcome to my blog. It will have information about my school life, my interests, information about Chicago/Naperville, and some other random topics.